


Between the Silence and the Snow

by naye



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 5000-10000 Words, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-27
Updated: 2009-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naye/pseuds/naye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team goes skiing. There be monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Silence and the Snow

**Author's Note:**

> The incomparable [](http://xparrot.livejournal.com/profile)[**xparrot**](http://xparrot.livejournal.com/) soldiered on through a cold to do beta for me - thank you! ♥

"But why do we have to use _these_?" Rodney protested again.

"They're good on snow," Ronon said. He was already fully equipped, and standing where he didn't have to worry about ducking flailing ski poles. Teyla, on the other hand, had been helping their physicist with his bindings, and would be at ground zero if Rodney exploded.

"Because we were invited to come this way," she reminded him. She didn't add _by the nice people standing right over there_, but rather attempted a distracting change of subject. "Skis are a common means of travel in many places during the winter. I believe you have the same kind of equipment on Earth?"

"Yes, but the only ones who use them are outdoorsy type sports freaks and other masochistic people who actually enjoy freezing their butts off! We don't exactly use them for our daily commutes ." Rodney whirled around and glared preemptively at John, forcing Teyla to duck away from a stray pole. "No, not even in Canada."

"Hey, I wasn't going to say anything," John drawled. It was far too cheap a shot to take. Especially since he was saving a Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man reference for later in the day, when Rodney would need a little new fuel for his steaming.

"You'll do great, buddy," John added, and grinned at what what he knew was an answering grimace from somewhere deep under several layers of scarves and hats, topped by fur-rimmed hood. It really was worth the toe-pinching of borrowed boots just to be here and witness the amazing stick-wielding bundle that was Rodney McKay in full ski survival mode.

'Here' itself wasn't half bad, either. Daern was much more of a Christmas card type setting than John was used to, but the deep snow blanketing the gentle hills glittered with the same perfect beauty that he had found so peaceful in Antarctica. The sky had a purple cast -- unusual even for Pegasus -- and it pulled violet shadows from the dips and folds of the snow. Everything here seemed soft and rounded, from the gentle hills to the shapes of the snow-laden trees around them.

"I believe we are ready now," Teyla announced to their guides. She patted Rodney comfortingly on the top of his jacket, somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder.

"Right. Of course we are. I'll just..." The specifics of Rodney's mutterings about geniuses and basic physics was lost in his blue scarf. It was probably for the best, because John had noticed that the younger of the guides, Mikkla, had already started fidgeting.

At Teyla's call, Mikkla looped back from where she and her companion had been standing, her skis sliding easily over the trampled snow by the gate. Her approach was accompanied by the clear ringing of the dozen small bells fastened to her belt, and once again John found himself thinking of half-forgotten Christmas carols.

"Again, we welcome you," Mikkla said, her dark eyes grave.

John followed Teyla's lead and nodded silently before answering. "Thanks."

"We thank you for leaving the small airships behind -- the herds always feel them, and..." She cocked her head in a small shrug, eyes crinkling with a smile. "It's hard to explain to the herd-beasts that these ones are piloted by friends."

"Yeah, no problem," John assured her, without even looking at Rodney. He didn't think Rodney would say anything to jeopardize this mission anyway, but with Teyla standing next to the physicist he knew she had him covered.

"Our home is not too far," Mikkla continued. "Even inexperienced skiers should be able to make it there long before nightfall. Kai will lead."

"Right, then," John said, and tentatively pressed his right ski down into the snow. Ski tracks like these would only get smoother and easier to follow with use. "Hey, Mikkla -- do you mind if we bring up the rear?"

The young woman flashed her teeth in a smile. "That would be excellent," she said. "Just be on your guard. Not all beasts find our winters too cold for their tastes." She gave another formal nod at John's confirmation, then swished off to join Kai in the lead.

"Sorry, guys," John said to Teyla and Ronon. "We'll be using you as snow plows for McKay here."

The two of them exchanged an amused look. "Good idea," Ronon said, shooting a grin over John's shoulder.

Bracing for a Rodney face-down in snow, John had to fight laughter when he turned around to look. He was trying _so hard_ to give the Daernans the impression that he was a serious kind of leader type, but -- Rodney, on _skis_. Skis that he had somehow managed to get crossed. Rodney was currently involved in very Twister-like maneuvers to right from that position before he fell over.

John might have snickered a little as he slid over to Teyla to help extract Rodney from his predicament.

"Not! Funny!" Rodney panted, flailing with his ski poles.

"Maybe I was mistaken," Teyla told John in conspiratory tones. "Your Earth techniques do seem to be quite different from what we commonly refer to as 'skiing'."

Since they were each holding on to one of Rodney's fluffy sleeves, the joke had not been meant to pass unnoticed.

"It's these skis! There's something wrong with the right one, it keeps -- there, look at that!"

John stabbed his ski pole down on top of the offending ski, stopping it before it could get Rodney's legs fully crossed again. Teyla arranged Rodney's arms so he was using his ski poles for balance, not as gesturing enhancements.

"It'll be easier once we're following their trail," John said.

"It will," Teyla nodded, and gave Rodney another few words of what sounded like hard-earned advice. Of course, John realized -- Athos' gate was in a much more temperate zone than this, so Teyla's skiing experience was probably limited to visits to other planets. John himself was more familiar with the kind of skiing that involved going downhill at high speeds, but that required getting to the top of the hill in the first place. These bindings felt looser, more flexible than what he'd worn back then, but the general theory was still the same.

Ahead, Mikkla was jingling impatiently again. Kai, strapped to the now-empty ski-sled, was exchanging gun-related comments with Ronon. Kai was almost of a height with the Satedan, though Ronon's spectacular dead-animal hat gave him a couple of extra inches.

They were all wearing their own winter gear -- there had been a semblance of uniformity the first time they headed into snow country, but that was before Rodney had discovered that the expedition-issued scarf _itched_, and the jacket wasn't warm enough; Ronon had killed whatever he had then turned into that very fuzzy hat; and Teyla was given the gift of gorgeous green coat and matching hat in some ceremony on M6S-210.

In contrast, the two Daernans were dressed very much alike, in gray clothes embroidered with winding red patterns, red scarves, and red hoods fringed in soft gray fur. The red color, and the bells on their belts, didn't make it easier for John to not think about jolly, bearded men in red suits.

"Am I the only one to notice that Woolsey sent us to a Christmas card?" Rodney muttered, as if he had read John's mind. The physicist was finally standing on his own two skis, pointed in the right direction, and since the rest of them were already neatly arranged in single file behind Kai, there was no point in standing around any longer.

"Let's go," John called, and Kai raised a gloved hand in acknowledgment. The friendly jingle that followed once again called Christmas refrains into John's head. He lowered his voice to answer Rodney, "No, you're not."

"Good," Rodney sounded as if he wanted to say more, but coordinating the skis and poles and actually getting somewhere distracted him worse than most regular life-or-death crises did. "This," he panted, with the gate dwindling behind them, "_sucks_. But -- but I'm still glad to be back."

"Yeah. I know," John said. He fell into the rhythm of the motions with flowing ease -- it was like getting back on a bike, if someone had oiled and trimmed the bike while you were away. The Daernans really knew their skis, and these loose bindings allowed for a lot of forward momentum with very little effort.

"And at least," Rodney sucked in a deep breath, releasing it in a puff of white even John could see, "at least now I'm too busy to have that stupid carol haunting me."

"Which one?" John asked, before he could stop himself.

"Oh, no, " Rodney said. "You're not tricking me! I got it out of my head, you're not going to put it back in there."

John thought about it for a second, then decided that Johnny Cash would always triumph over any earworm. It would be worth it. "So, you're not dreaming of a white Christmas, then?"

Rodney made a noise very akin to a whimper, causing Teyla to turn and look worriedly at him.

"Rodney?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine."

John grinned. Rodney was already getting the hang of the whole skiing thing, now that his skis were stuck in the furrows, and he wasn't _thinking_ so much about what he was doing. Not expecting Rodney to fall flat on his face any minute allowed John to relax a little.

A fresh gust of wind made powdery snow whirl around them, sparkling gold and purple in the strange light of the Daern sky. Taking deep breaths almost hurt, the air was so sharp, but it was a good kind of ache. Everything here was clean, the snowfield with its rounded trees like something out of a kid's drawing. The stillness of winter was all around them, the only sounds those they made themselves. There was the creak of snow, familiar voices, and the tinkle of a multitude of bells.

Hallmark, eat your heart out. To call this place a Christmas card was really an insult to Daern, which was a thousand times better than any card, because it was _real_.

It really was good to be back in Pegasus.

The mission was kind of anticlimactic, after everything it had taken to get them to this point, but John knew that they were doing an important thing. Even Woolsey had been quick to see Teyla's point, now that they knew they were in for the long haul.

Adopting a few of the more common Pegasus practices would hopefully help strengthen the arguably tentative and frayed ties they had to communities around the galaxy. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to start recruiting people with the same kind of competence and experience as Teyla and Ronon. Which is why they were skiing along to meet their first volunteer apprentice-type person.

The Daernans had been the first to reply to Atlantis' offer, and let them know that one of their own healer acolytes was willing to apprentice in the Atlantis infirmary, provided that she be well trained, and allowed to study the Earther's and Ancient's medical science alike. Jennifer had been delighted at the prospect, and would have come along to the meet herself if she had not had more urgent doctorly duties to attend to.

Kai had set a good pace -- Rodney was able to keep up, but they were still getting somewhere. The sun was slanting through the sparse trees at an angle now, and John reached to adjust his goggles.

There was only a second's warning. Kai stopped at the same time as Ronon's hand went to his gun. Mikkla's shouted warning was swallowed by the dull roar as a huge _something_ burst from the woods in a blinding explosion of snow.

John lost precious seconds yanking off his gloves, and when he finally managed to draw his sidearm, he cursed Woolsey for deciding that 'diplomacy' meant 'do not bring any big guns'. Whatever was after them was large and fast -- obviously a predator, though John could see no fangs or claws -- and the pistol in his hands felt wholly inadequate. The snowburst made it impossible to see more than blurry outlines -- something was moving among them, slithering, reaching for them -- and then he lost sight of it.

"Guys!" he called, trying to take stock of the situation, make sure that everyone was all right -- hadn't Rodney been right there in front of him?

The thought had barely crossed his mind before John heard a distinctive high-pitched scream, followed by the sharp bang of a gunshot.

This was bad, this was very, very bad -- John had gone cold, as if he had no defenses against the winter around him. Something had Rodney, and Rodney was quite possibly firing blindly into the chaos.

"Rodney!" he shouted, trying to pinpoint the strangled scream that was his only reply.

There was a flash of light, orange glow reflected in a million glittering snow crystals, announcing Ronon's location, and the fact that the Satedan had found a target.

Another scream -- this one far from human, too much like nails on a blackboard.

"Rodney!" This time it was Teyla's voice, and more gunfire followed. John cursed again, tottering precariously on his skis when he swung about, ski poles still dangling uselessly from his wrists in their straps. Was he the only one who still couldn't get a bead on whatever it was?

John glimpsed a flash of color in the blinding white -- red, cutting across his field of vision, and when he followed it -- there! Ronon's broad back was unmistakable, and the green of Teyla's coat was right next to him, and beyond them -- something sinuous, like serpents, blending in with the snow, and all attached to a muscular central body. It was like the worst twisted nightmare Dr. Seuss had ever had -- and it had wrapped one of its sleek, fur-covered extremities around Rodney.

The trees around them shook as the thing's long arms crashed against their trunks, snow falling down in chunks and scatterings. Gunfire cracked and blazed, and John couldn't tell who was yelling what -- but with a rush of relief he realized that he could still hear Rodney's desperate voice.

Clumsily stomping his way closer, he kept tracking the white-furred Dr. Seuss's nightmare, searching for a clear shot. There was no telling how much damage that thing was doing to Rodney, and if they just stood here -- but there was that flash of red again, and John could make out a slight figure darting between the flailing extremities. Mikkla -- he lost her as she threw herself in behind the creature, but only seconds later there was another of those horrible screeching wails.

John's teeth stood on end -- and then he saw Rodney slip from the creature's grasp, just as Mikkla rolled out from under a thrashing arm. All clear. He took the shot, emptying his clip right at the center of its trunk-like body, and Teyla and Ronon fired along with him.

They didn't wait for the thing's death throes to abate before grabbing Rodney out from under it. Ronon scooped Rodney up, while Teyla used her ski poles to keep the still-twitching arms away from them.

Crowding as close as he could without locking their skis together, John was shocked by his first good look at Rodney. His jacket was ripped half off, he had lost his skis -- and his boots along with them -- but it was his face that made John draw a quick, icy breath that tasted strangely bitter.

Rodney's eyes were closed, eyelids puffed an angry red, and the skin around them was breaking out into a swollen rash. Ronon had an firm grip on him, but John could see Rodney struggle against it, hands clenched into claws. "What is that -- what happened to him?"

"Thing got to him," Ronon said, and Rodney moaned.

"Hurts," Rodney panted, twisting to press his face into Ronon's coat.

"Don't!" Mikkla's voice called, and it was a good thing Teyla was there, because John had no idea what the warning was supposed to mean. But Teyla's hands came to rest on either side of Rodney's damaged face, gentle pressure against his jaw and temples, holding his head steady.

"Get him down, on the ground," Mikkla instructed, and Ronon lowered Rodney into the snow.

"Oh, god, make it stop," Rodney gasped, weakly trying to free his head from Teyla's steady hold.

"We need water -- Kai!" The big man was sprinting towards them at a breakneck pace, a weird red gourd in hand.

Mikkla was leaning over Rodney now, and John grabbed her shoulder. "What's going on?" he demanded, Rodney's pained gasps loud in his ear.

Mikkla glared at him, but John didn't care one whit what she thought of him right now -- he couldn't leave an injured friend to someone he hadn't even known for a full day yet, not without any idea of what was going on.

"It's the ick," Mikkla said shortly, wasting no time on elaborating. "It's got a spore, a poison -- we need to wash it away before it gets any worse."

She shrugged off John's grasp to reach for the water Kai had brought, and John let his hand fall. He pressed his lips together, watching the two Daernans shed their skis and go to work on McKay. The red gourd contained a clear liquid -- unfrozen, and John wondered about that, but it wasn't as if he had brought anything more useful himself, so he just had to trust them.

Rodney gave a choked cry as the water hit his face, and Ronon looked as if he were actually struggling to keep Rodney down. John's hands curled into fists, nails biting into his cold-dry skin, spine stiffening with each agonized noise Rodney was making, and he couldn't _do_ anything.

Mikkla carefully avoided touching the exposed skin on Rodney's face, instead pouring liberal amounts of water over it. When the entire bottle was empty, she took handfuls of snow and held them briefly against the weird burns, while Kai twisted the gourd open and stuffed it full of snow. A few seconds later, Mikkla held the gourd over Rodney, and there was more water.

Teyla was talking softly to Rodney, who was allowing the Daernans' ministrations to soothe him. At least he wasn't screaming anymore, and Ronon had shifted his grip on Rodney from constricting to comforting. John managed to tear his gaze away from Rodney's swollen eyes long enough to confirm that there were no other obvious injuries. So, damaged face and internal injuries only. It was a really crappy kind of reassurance, and he kept it to himself.

Mikkla and Kai repeated the procedure with the snow and the water, with less urgency now that Rodney wasn't thrashing about in panic.

"What's -- what was that?" Rodney's voice was trembling, and raw with pain, but hearing him so lucid still made John relax a fraction.

"Apparently it was an 'ick'," he informed Rodney, fumbling his skis off to be able to crowd in between Teyla and Ronon.

Rodney's face still looked horrible to John's untrained eye. He couldn't help a wince at the swelling, and the viciously red color.

"Ick?" Rodney said in a small voice. "I -- ow. My eyes..."

"Yeah, buddy. I know," John said, and Teyla stroked Rodney's hair.

"Haven't seen icks before," Ronon said, looking over his shoulder at the monstrous corpse behind them.

"They don't usually come this close to our homes," Kai explained. "That one must have been sick our wounded. Desperate, to go after humans."

"Right," John said, because he didn't really want to contemplate what the other icks would be like, if this one had been a cripple. "But what _are_ they?"

Mikkla frowned, raising a fresh gourd-full of meltwater over Rodney's face. "Predators," she said. "Daernan. They have a nasty venom spray in their trunk. It's mostly for protection, when they're still little. Adults rarely use it."

Rodney spit weakly. "What's it _do_?" he rasped. "Am I--" Ronon caught the hand Rodney had balled to a fist.

"You'll be fine," Ronon said, and stared at Mikkla as if daring her to disagree. They all did. Even Rodney's face turned in her direction, honing in on the silence.

"Usually -- the adults' venom is diluted by years of disuse," Mikkla said slowly. "It's rare for anyone strong and healthy to die from it. But for your eyes -- we must take you to a healer. "

"How fast can we get back to the gate?" John asked.

Mikkla, and Kai behind her, looked puzzled. "You want to leave your friend behind?" she asked.

"What? No! We --" John paused when he felt Teyla's hand squeeze his arm. "What?"

"Do you believe Atlantis has a cure for this venom?" she asked him quietly.

"I don't --"

"We know how to treat this," Mikkla said, clearly affronted. "Our homes aren't far, and we will attend to Rodney as if he were one of our own."

But Atlantis was where they had Ancient scanners, and medicine that came in familiar white pills, and -- and no cure for ick attacks.

"Of course," John said, forcing the words out.

Mikkla nodded, and Kai swished off to get the sled.

It still felt wrong to put Rodney's wellbeing in the hands of strangers -- but they were efficient strangers, and ones who knew what they were doing. Teyla squeezed his arm again, and gave him a slight smile. John would have returned it, but the way Rodney's jaw was working, grinding his teeth together, made John's cheeks ache in sympathy.

"You'll be okay," John said, refusing to consider any alternatives. He awkwardly patted Rodney's padded shoulder. "We're taking you to get help."

Rodney nodded minutely. "Yeah," he breathed. Then his breath hitched, and John's own chest clenched, until he realized Rodney wasn't sobbing. The hitching breath was a terrible excuse for laughter, and it was quite possible that Rodney was losing his mind as a side effect to the venom or something, but there it was.

"I got had ," Rodney groaned weakly, "...by an _ick_."

"Yeah, Rodney. We heard," John nodded sagely, and glanced at Ronon and Teyla, to find their faces mirroring his own stupid grin.

"'s humiliating."

"Nah," Ronon jumped in. "It was big."

"It's a furry killer land squid thing, Rodney. It even beats flying apes," John reassured him, and Rodney flopped back a little.

Mikkla had put the gourd aside, and pulled out a red cloth from under her jacket. She leaned over Rodney, and carefully blotted his face dry. Rodney's eyes were hidden behind swollen red folds, the skin around the puffy eyelids peppered with a rash that reached as far as his neck in some places. There were no open sores that John could see, but the skin looked so damaged that it was difficult to believe that it wasn't splitting open or sloughing off.

John felt his pockets, wishing he had brought something -- anything -- that they could use to help Rodney. But other than a bottle of Ibuprofen, he had nothing. He considered slipping Rodney the painkillers, but it was never a good idea to mix drugs, and mixing Pegasus and Earth stuff -- who knew what could happen.

He'd just have to wait and see, and hopefully Rodney wouldn't lose his eyesight while John was working on the whole cooperation and trust thing. Sure, that was a great idea, but John wished they could have started with something where the stakes were a little lower. Maybe one of those group exercises involving outdoors activities and campfires -- and he'd always hated those. Woolsey would have been so proud of him if he'd done a Kumbayah. Anything to avoid having to stand around here and do nothing when Rodney was -- hurting, but they'd fix him. They would.

John heard bells, and creaking snow. Kai was back, with the sled the Daernans had used to bring the skis. It was a little short, but it would have to do.

"Lift him carefully," Mikkla instructed, and Ronon and Kai easily transferred Rodney from his cold snowdrift to the light sled. Like the skis, the sled was built for the terrain and the weather, and even with Rodney's full weight in it, it didn't sink very deep at all. They all helped with the straps and buckles, making sure Rodney was secure without wasting any time.

"I'll go as fast as I can," Kai said when they were done. "Mikkla can show you the way."

John nodded. "Fast is good," he said, and leaned over Rodney while Kai adjusted the pulling harness. "Hang in there, buddy," he told Rodney. "We'll be right behind you. Everything will be fine." His tone was firm. No hesitation. Rodney _would_ be fine.

"'kay," Rodney mumbled, and then Kai was moving, and John blinked, wondering when the Daernans had invented jet skis. Because surely even someone like Kai couldn't go _that_ fast, not dragging a Rodney-filled sled.

"He is one of our best racers," Mikkla said, pride in her voice. "Your Rodney will be in our home soon. Come, follow."

Because there was nothing else they could do, they strapped their skis back on, and followed.

* * *

 

Rodney's world was black and bitter, and he _hurt_. The total lack of visual impressions was disconcerting, but the burning, itching pain was a fantastic distraction. He hadn't even seen it coming -- oh, hah, very funny.

There were bumps and jostles and he felt like someone had put him in a barrel and pushed him over the edge of the Niagara, really, and it might not be so bad if the water in the falls would extinguish the damned burning.

Which he hadn't seen coming. Because when you're grabbed by some kind of snow gorilla with furry snakes for arms, blinding venom is not exactly the first thing on your mind. He had thought it was more snow spraying in his face, until the snow hit and it was like being splashed by acid, eating away his skin and dissolving his eyeballs.

Oh, god. He hoped they weren't actually dissolved. The gruesome thought was terrifying, and he tried to bring his hands up to touch -- to feel that they were still there. But once again his hands wouldn't move from his sides. There was something heavy -- or not heavy. There was something holding him down.

Which was good, because if something hadn't been holding him down, gravity and normal forces would have duked it out by now, and his body would have been left behind by whatever was making the jostling and bumping and that incessant ringing in his ears.

"I won't scratch," he tried to say. "Really, I just need to know that my eyes are still in a suitably solid state."

What he heard was a weird kind of croak, and the bitter, acid taste on his tongue got more noticeable in contrast to the air that rushed straight down to his lungs, filling them with chunks of ice. He wished it would have evened out the hot throbbing in his face, but instead it just sent more of the same old pain spiking through his system, wringing a whimper from him.

"Someone get me painkillers," he tried asking, or thought he had asked. "Please?"

There was no answer. Rodney tilted his head, trying to hear -- jingling bells. Jingling brightly, entrancingly, like that inane song that he couldn't even escape on Atlantis -- no. Bells were not what he had wanted to hear. He wanted -- he thought John had said they would be there. His team. One of them was always there, whether he ended up in a Wraith cocoon or a Genii cage or a living nightmare.

But now there was no answer, and no voices around him. Beyond the bells, there were only the sounds of friction against snow, and then -- nothing. An overwhelming silence, like nothing Atlantis ever offered. It was vast and heavy, and Rodney was suddenly afraid of listening too deeply to it. Afraid that the beating drum that was his pulse would announce his whereabouts to anyone -- anything -- waiting out there.

If the pain would just go away, it would be easier to think -- easier to focus, find the sounds that had to be there, unless this entire planet had been taken by the bitter venom, turned to ash around him, and maybe the cold wasn't winter, but the never ending night of a planet under a dead sun.

Rodney clenched his teeth, biting off a scream. Panic threatened to choke him, until he allowed the too-cheery jingling of bells distract him. The world was still there. The occasional featherlight touch on his face followed the pattern of snow, not ash -- it turned cold, and then wet, and then a new spot of of softness would caress his burning skin.

With the panic held at bay, he knew that his thoughts were shifting in and out of focus, interspersed by nightmares and illusions. He was clearly delusional, as well as in ridiculous amounts of pain, so why couldn't he just _pass out_ already? He would much rather go unconscious that hang around and feel the venom sear through his eyes and _eat his brain_.

Obviously he must have a fantastically tasty brain, being as smart as he was, but -- no, he really wasn't the slightest bit flattered by how the Pegasus wildlife had such impeccable taste, always going after _him_. Making nests in his brain, spitting in his face -- really, the latter was no flattery, no matter how you looked at it. It was plain rude -- not to mention remarkably painful.

Unconsciousness remained a happy fantasy, the way sleep did when there were thirteen crises to deal with at once, and Rodney's blood had started turning into caffeine. Things with fangs and claws dripping venom hovered at the edges of his awareness, and he had been traveling in a cold and silent world for as long as he could remember -- searching for what he was missing, searching for -- a lucid thought, thank god, please let there be painkillers soon.

The bells stopped.

Rodney would have blinked, but his eyes had been swallowed by the throbbing darkness. He cocked his head. There were voices, close and coming closer -- voices all around. Because he didn't know them, and he couldn't see them, they were inordinately frightening.

"Guys?" he tried asking, but his mouth was full of ash, and nothing worked right. He could feel hands on him, or giant spiders, and he was working up to another scream when the voices dissolved into words, and he heard his name.

"Rodney."

Not any of the voices he had been expecting. At least he didn't think so. But the hands didn't hurt him, and he remembered -- John had said they would get help. It was too cold to be Atlantis, and he didn't recognize the voices, but maybe this was help.

The earlier jostling and bumping was replaced by a different sort of motion -- shifting, first, arms under him, and then he was moving, but less swiftly than before.

Rodney wanted to ask who they were, if they were there to help him, but his throat was not doing so great, and his mouth was parched and vile. Instead he nodded when he next heard his name, trying to turn to the source of the sound.

"Good!" He couldn't see it, but there was a smile in the voice. A woman's voice. "Good," she repeated. "Rodney, you're probably feeling very bad right now, but we're going to help you with that."

The voice was right -- that _was_ good. About damn time.

"I am Ingla."

Since Ingla already knew who Rodney was, he didn't bother introducing himself. He just lay there in pain. The sounds around him changed, as he was busy being motionless. Things almost echoed, a little, where before everything had been swallowed by the snow. He hadn't been moved far at all when it stopped being cold. Just like that, at first. All the voices sounded closer, and there were no more snowflakes melting on skin.

Then there was a rush of pain, starting in his face, and spreading randomly through his body -- a thousand prickling needles of hot on cold. That was the price you paid for being indoors.

Through the tingling ache, Rodney clung hopefully to the thought of hospitals. He thought of the Atlantis infirmary, and the painkillers they had there. He was being shifted around again, briefly, then all was still . He knew he wasn't in Atlantis, and his body agreed -- the Atlantis infirmary beds were not this comfortable. So if this place could also make him _stop hurting_, he might give them an extra star, compared to Atlantis.

"Rodney. I'm going to give you something to drink. It's medicine. It will help you get better, so you have to swallow it, all right?"

Medicine. God, he loved medicine.

No. Correction. He loved the _effects_ of medicine. He most certainly did not love this -- this foul-tasting concoction. He only swallowed it because it wasn't worse than what he'd gotten doused with to get into this mess -- but then again _battery acid_ might not be worse than that.

"Good. Now, water."

Sweet and and clear, but not cold, it was the most delicious thing that Rodney had ever drunk. He wanted to keep it trickling between his lips forever, but before it washed the last bitterness from his tongue, the source disappeared. The cool hand that had been resting at the back of his neck slowly lowered his head to the pillows.

"Don't worry if you get sleepy. It's good to rest, now. For your body, for the pain."

Ingla's voice was warm.

"If you sleep, your body will start healing, and I will help it. Relax."

Rodney wanted to obey.

"Don't worry."

He wanted to believe her. But there were still monsters out in the empty darkness of the snow, and he was the only one protected by walls and voices. He wanted to escape the pain, wanted sleep, but --

"The others?" he asked, and forced the words out of his mouth, where they were almost swallowed by all the other sounds.

But Ingla heard.

"They are coming. They will be here soon. Kai says they are all safe."

Rodney's cheeks flared with pain when he smiled, so he just nodded, his body growing distant.

"Sleep."

It was right there, pulling at him now, about to swallow him whole, but still he struggled weakly. Outside of sleep, a low chuckle tumbled from above.

"Stubborn man. If you don't sleep, I can't heal you."

But, Rodney wanted to protest. But --

"Your friends will be here when you wake up."

Rodney let himself get swept away.

 

* * *

 

Drifting free of deep, black nothing, small fragments of memory and sensation slowly buffeted Rodney to wakefulness. Snow. Cold and white. A violet sky, and stillness turned to panic. Bitter pain. Cold and dark, until warmth returned.

There was warmth around him now. No pain. Well -- no burning, piercing pain. There was still pain, but it was dull and distant, throbbing faintly to the steady beat of his heart.

Rodney remained pleasantly numb for some time, enjoying the soft stillness, the soothing snugness of being wrapped up in a cozy cocoon. It only lasted until the trickle of thoughts grew to their usual flood -- more sluggish than usual, maybe, but there was no way Rodney could hibernate through waking up on a strange planet (purple sky; no snow angels in the yard) after getting venom-squirted (by an ick).

Especially not when recollection of pertinent events lead to the fact that he still couldn't see. That realization resulted in all sorts of interesting effects -- racing pulse, shortness of breath, and a remarkable clarity of mind for someone who was probably still drugged, if the heavy maple syrup feeling in his limbs was any indication.

Rodney struggled to open his eyes -- he had never really thought about the process involved before, but he didn't think about _breathing_, either, and that still worked. (Please let it keep working!) But even going through what he knew should be the correct motions, he remained shrouded in horrifying, clinging darkness.

The next step was to move his hands. They took a little while to respond, but they did, and they weren't trapped, and that made it a little easier to breathe. He fumbled them out from under something soft, and brought them both hands to his face, touching it to feel -- cloth. Covering his eyes -- covering most of his face.

Bandages. Well, that explained the lack of sight. Rodney's hands dropped back down as he breathed a half-relieved sigh. He still didn't know what lay beneath the bandages, of course, but at least his fingers hadn't met with empty eye sockets or anything.

How would it feel like, though, if he had lost his eyes? The thought ran like a chill down his spine. Would he notice? Why hadn't anyone showed up to tell him everything was going to be fine?

They should be here -- he knew they had been on their way. John had said that they would be there. Not being able to see for himself where he was -- or who was around -- was sheer frustration, tinged with a fair bit of panic and terror. All he could hear was the rush of his own pulse in his ears.

It was nothing unusual, though. Panic and terror he knew exactly how to deal with it. He opened his mouth to talk. Getting the attention of hospital staff -- any hospital staff - was a knack Rodney had. It was harder to do when his mouth was parched and his tongue as reluctant to move as the rest of his body, but he wouldn't let such minor irritants stand in the way of a good rant. Or at least a pathetic call for attention.

"Hello?" Croak, croak. That was horrible. If this went on, annoyance would win out over panic and terror.

Rodney tried again. "Anyone there?"

His straining ears caught a rustling sound in the stillness, and then soft footsteps.

"Rodney," a woman said softly. Her voice wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but he couldn't remember if he was supposed to know her name or not. "You're awake."

Rodney nodded in reply. Maybe she had just been stating the obvious, but he realized that the freaky bandages all over his face would make it hard to tell whether he was conscious or not.

"I'm Ingla," the woman said. Apparently bandages didn't hinder his ability to look puzzled, because she added, "I gave you the medicine? I'm a -- you would say a doctor."

Okay. That was good.

"You must be parched." It seemed like too much effort to nod simply to confirm something so ridiculously obvious -- but then Rodney wasn't sure Ingla was looking at him anymore. He heard a weird rattling, like dice in a cup, and the noise was coming from somewhere close by, so she was busy with --

"I'll give you ice. It's better than water, after the ick, and the medicine."

Oh. That would be good. Rodney licked his lips, and opened his mouth when Ingla asked him to. A couple of cold, slippery ice beads were placed on his tongue, and he sucked greedily on them. The way they melted in his mouth was bliss. It made the bitter taste less astringent, and moistened his parched throat enough that he could ask for more, and almost sound human.

It wasn't enough to make him forget that he was in a strange room on a strange planet, and had had a very close encounter with a nasty, nasty beast that had manage to not only be huge and slithery and furry, but also venomous. And that he'd last seen his friends out there with the beast, and -- oh, yeah, it might have been the last thing he saw _ever_. With ice still rolling around his mouth, he turned his face in what he thought was probably the direction of the doctor woman, and asked, "What happened? My eyes -- my friends..."

"You mustn't worry," Ingla said, soothingly. Rodney tensed -- was she being _too_ soothing? The kind of soothing you are with someone who might break down on you if you deliver bad news to them the wrong way?

"Mikkla and Kai cleansed your eyes, and got you here in time. There is no permanent damage. You should be back to full health in a few days."

Rodney sank back against the pillows. He could worry more about the 'should' later. "And," he started, but before he could form a question, Ingla made a low, amused sound.

"Your friends, yes. They are fine -- much better off than you, after the ick. Listen," she said.

"To what?"

Instead of an answer, Ingla gave him more ice. With his mouth busy melting ice, it wasn't as if he could do much else. Of course, he had been listening before -- for footsteps, for things that might possibly be about to jump his face and eat him, but he hadn't _listened_. Now he did.

The silence wasn't complete, now that he paid close attention to it. It wasn't overwhelming, either -- it was like the silence in the lab, when everyone was engrossed in their own projects, too busy to natter or argue, and oh, Rodney loved it when everyone else shut up for once. This was the same kind of silence.

Lifting his head up a bit, analyzing what he could hear, he realized why -- he and Ingla weren't alone. The background hum wasn't electrical equipment or computer fans -- it was breathing. Coming from not too far away, and now he _knew_ that Ingla was right.

There was the deep, sonorous breathing that meant that Ronon had relaxed enough to fall asleep, and not jump awake at the slightest sound. In the silences after Ronon exhaled, Rodney could tell that, Teyla must be cuddling a pillow or something again, because her breaths were coming in little muffled puffs. And finally, John was worrying in his sleep, exhalation hissing between teeth clamped far too tightly.

Rodney wanted to poke him, tell him to lighten up, because -- hey, at least John hadn't been snatched by an _ick_. Which was the dumbest name ever, and he never would live it down back on Atlantis, even if it _was_ a furry killer land squid which, as Ronon could vouch, had been very big.

The smile felt kind of wrong, and parts of his face smarted under the bandages, but Rodney couldn't help it. So this is what happened when they brought the band back together -- or back to the stage, or however that analogy would go in their case. Less than 24 hours back on the job, and they were all conked out in an alien hospital room.

"They okay?" he asked Ingla, after swallowing the last of the melted ice. He thought they sounded okay, but if this was a hospital, then maybe...

"Of course," she answered, her voice low.

"But," he insisted, "isn't this a hospital, or something?"

"Ah. Yes, I believe that's what you would call it."

"So... why are they here?" It wasn't like Rodney minded, not really, but he knew how hospitals usually were, with the visiting hours (which fortunately didn't apply on Atlantis -- at least not in practice), and uncomfortable chairs, and an obsession with letting patients rest. (Which he only appreciated when he was actually sleeping. Being alone and robbed of all of his work _sucked_.)

Ingla offered him another few beads of ice. Though Rodney couldn't see her face, it read as a kind of hesitation. When she spoke, it was slowly, like people sometimes did the first time they followed a particular train of thought out loud. "As long as a patient isn't contagious," she explained, "we don't isolate them. People feel better when they aren't alone. Healing is about making people feel better. So why should your friends not be here?"

Well, Rodney wasn't going to argue with that. He shrugged, kind of, under his thick, soft covers.

"You should sleep more," Ingla told him, and Rodney heard her stand up. He wondered briefly what she had been sitting on. "I will be here when you wake." She leaned over him -- he could tell without seeing, from the way the sounds cut off, and the little rustling noises her clothes made against the side of his bed.

Ingla's fingers on the bandage were so gentle Rodney didn't quite register their touch before she straightened. "It looks good," she told him. "Now go back to sleep."

Ingla padded away, until she was a little further away than the others -- at least her breathing wasn't easy for Rodney to discern. But the others' were, each and every one of them so close that it was as if he could almost feel them around him. As the sound of their breathing carried to his ears, maybe the heat radiated by their sleeping bodies carried on the air. It was as if he could feel their warmth surrounding him.

Their presence calmed him. He trusted his team to keep the terrors of the snow and the silence at bay. He trusted them. They would be there when he woke up. With that thought, Rodney slept.


End file.
